I am not very good at sitting back and letting things run their course. I’m not. I like control. I like knowing what’s going to happen. I like taking comfort in leaving my things at work and knowing they will be there, right where I left them, in the morning. That has not been the case, recently. Slowly, one by one, my electronics accessories are being taken from me while I’m not here. Headphones, pulled right out of my computer. An iPhone charger, unearthed from under a pile of papers. I’m assuming they thought I wouldn’t notice. But you see, to a mind that is moving a million miles an hour, my organizational system is not something that is going to make sense to anyone other than me.
But what can I do? They’re not high-priced items (although they’re also not cheap). My boss refuses to lock the door to our office, because what a hassle that would be for her. Boo hoo. So I have to sit here. And I have to believe that karma will take care of it.
I am a good person. I don’t steal from others. The wrongs I commit are small and hardly worth mentioning. Yes, I peek at people’s cards sometimes in an unknown game that H learned at work, if I can see them. Yes, I speed when I’m driving sometimes. Yes, I’ve told a white lie here or there, usually out of embarrassment. I admit to these things, because they don’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. I don’t cheat. I don’t hurt people. And I don’t effing steal.
Maybe whoever is doing this thinks that I’m a rich white girl who is glued to her iPhone, or some other racial or class-slanted stereotype that makes me want to punch something. Maybe that’s what the problem is. But I am working full time while I put myself through a Master’s degree program, so that I can hopefully one day not get migraines because of the crap I have to deal with at work. My grandparents were migrant workers. I do not fit the stereotype.
And now I’m angry.
But I have to sit here and pretend that I’m fine. I have to sit here and make it look like I’m not bothered by the fact that nothing I own is safe on my desk anymore (except for my class books, which no one seems to want). I have to sit here while my coworkers look at me with a sympathetic look and say things like “that’s weird” and “tough break.” I feel violated. I feel like my privacy is compromised.
And I’m angry.
It’s not the only thing that has made me angry in the last week. It’s all probably leading to migraines, which is another thing I haven’t been able to shake this week. I’m tired. I’m angry. And this karma thing better be real.